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Thursday, December 20, 2012

Miss Tillman

I began my formal education at
the age of five. If I’d been a week
older I wouldn't have started for another year.
As it turned out, all of my classmates were six years old and bigger, and faster,
and in most things, smarter than me.

Today, a year is nothing to me.
I wouldn't notice if tomorrow I was 69 or 71, because today, one year of
my life only amounts to 1.5% of my total years. However, at age five, 1
year of my life amounted to 20% of my total years. There is a major difference between being six
years old as opposed to being five. Ask any five or six year old in case
you've forgotten.

The difference in age between
me and all of my classmates was only one of three major obstacles I faced. The second obstacle was, I had always been at
home – no day care or kindergarten for me.
The third obstacle was, I already knew how to read, and as far as I was
concerned, learning to read was the only justification for going to school.

I tried to reason with those
who held power over my life but reasoning never worked with them, so, on the
first day of school, 1947, accompanied by my mother, I walked to Barrett
Elementary School, six blocks from my house.
In the classroom, which was filled with kids who were 20% older and 20%
taller than me, my mother introduced me to Miss Tillman, my teacher. Then Miss Tillman took me to my desk in the
back of the room and got me settled in. Five
minutes later, mother left. Seconds
after she departed, so did I.

With my lunch box in one hand
and my sweater in the other, I ran down the alleys as fast as I could. I was sitting on the front porch when mother
arrived. I won’t go into detail about
the conversation that followed. I’ll
just say the next morning was a repeat of the first day until it was time for
me to be seated. Mother escorted me to
my desk, not Miss Tillman. When she left, it was with the admonition that I better not be on the front porch when
she got home.

I got the message, and I wasn't on the front porch when she got home. However,
a minute after she left the school, so did I.
This time I didn't go home. I
went across the street and about fifty feet down the alley. There I found a shady spot, spread my sweater
like a picnic blanket and opened my lunch box.
In minutes, I was eating and reading the books I’d tucked in with the
sandwiches just before leaving the house.

When the last bell rang, and
kids came streaming out of the school, I joined them. I did that for two days, not knowing for
years afterward that Miss Tillman had called my mother moments after I disappeared and
told her that she could see me from her classroom and she would keep an eye on
me and work things out. Then she asked
mother not to say anything to me. A lot
has changed in our school systems since then.

About mid-morning of the third
day, just as I finished my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, it began to
rain. Seconds after the first drops
fell, Miss Tillman, holding a huge black umbrella appeared, knelt beside me,
and said, “Bert, I know you don’t like school.
I’m going to tell you a secret if you promise not to tell anyone. OK?”

I nodded, and she continued, “When
I was your age, I didn't like school either.
I already knew how to read, and everyone in my class was older than
me. To be honest, I hated it. Do you know what I mean?”

She paused, looked at me, and
waited. I was about to cry so I didn't try to talk. I just nodded my head
again. She smiled and continued, “I thought
you would.”

We stayed like that for a
while. The only sound was the rain
beating on her umbrella. Finally, she
held out her hand and I took it. She
smiled again and said, “I’m going to tell you another secret. Is that alright?”

I nodded and she said, “If you’ll
go back into class with me and just stay there until the day is over, I’ll let
you play with my dogs after school.”

I couldn't believe it. Miss Tillman had two Scotties – one solid
white and the other solid black. There
was no way to get near them because they stayed behind a fence that enclosed
her back yard. I’d wanted to pet those
dogs since the first day I saw them. I
managed to say, “Yes Ma’am.” Then we stood and walked into the classroom. That afternoon I played with Miss Tillman’s Scotties
just as I did every afternoon until summer, and we moved away from Birmingham.

I didn't see Miss Tillman
again, in fact, I never saw Barrett Elementary School again. However, I think about Miss Tillman often and
every time I do, I marvel at my good fortune in drawing her as my first
teacher.

Miss Tillman was number five in
my series of blogs inspired by the work of Norman Rockwell. Tomorrow I’ll tell you the story I call
Choosing Up. I’ll use Norman Rockwell’s
picture of the same name to illustrate the story. Here it is:

Now that you mention it, I can think of less than ten, probably nearer 7 or 8, who really mattered to me. Of course, if Miss Tillman hadn't brought me in from the alley I'd have never known the others.

About Me

I'm 75 years old - happily married to Christina (the fourth time was the charm) - I'm a Vietnam Vet and I write books about men and women who do the right thing. I was a professional speaker for fourteen years - I will be a professional writer for the rest of my years. Visit my Amazon Author's page to see my books that are available there.